Nothing But Kindness
by Urotnik
Summary: While mapping out the King's Roads, the magicians of York stumble onto the gentleman with the thistle-down hair, greatly weakened. Taking pity, they try to reintroduce him into society. But as the consequences of exploring Faerie begin to trickle into England, the magicians find themselves cornered by a chaos of changes which which will require more than magic to put to rights.


NOTE: This story will contain various characters both from JSaMN and The Ladies of Grace Adieu.  
No pairings: more of a 'everyone eventually becomes friends' story?

Written as a response to a prompt found on jsmn-kinkmeme on tumblr.

 **Chapter 1: Tea and conspiracy**

 **Late spring 1817**

One cold morning, in spite of the heavy showers of rain, a small crowd of visitors gathered at the gates of Starecross Hall. Any passer-by would have been much surprised by the content of this crowd: there were gentlemen of local standing, old men and pimple-faced youths, shopkeepers, sailors and lawyers, and a rather fierce-eyed young lady apparently accompanied by an old vicar and his miserable-looking grey dog.

In short, these men and women had but one thing in common among them: they were all members of the Learned Society of York Magicians.

It had been quite a journey for some of them, as the house was located up in the far north of England, and in a rather remote village at that. Many muddied coaches stood as testament to the arduous journey, left along the village's run-down road, with tired horses still patiently awaiting the hay-scented warmth of a stable.

The visitors had arrived after a heated discussion in which (to the surprise of nobody who has ever known a magician) no satisfactory resolution had been reached. Yet they had somehow managed a tentative truce, all in their desire to propose a new and exciting idea to the one person they felt could reply with adequate precision.

You see, for its entire dilapidated look and out-of-the-way location, Starecross Hall was home to one of England's most promising magicians, the kindly Mr Segundus.

The wilderness of England is never a lonely place. Even on the wettest of days, insects will still cross their tiny earthen paths and birds will huddle within the shelter of heath and heather, while the flowers close their delicate cupped faces. A thousand different languages, all tapping to the rhythm of the rain.

A clatter of clawed feet was making its frantic way through the fields. It was a strong young rabbit, though both tired and terrified. If it did not escape its pursuer quickly enough, it would soon be eaten and its bones would be left to nurture the soil.

So leap the rabbit did, right through the thin veil of magic surrounding Starecross, into the safety of sunlit Faerie.

As the morning went on, the magicians were one by one admitted indoors. Servants had already been hastily sent out to retrieve more refreshments for the unexpected guests. Some of the magicians remained standing at the entrance hall. Others were bold enough to try exploring the various corridors and unlocked rooms of Starecross. A few ruddy-faced men had even opted to await any fresh news from inside a local pub, where the surroundings were warmer and more likely to quench their thirst properly.

Only the vicar was still outside, roaming the surrounding moors with his dog.

Yet those who really mattered to Mr Segundus were all hidden inside his downstairs kitchen, sitting together at a weathered table of oak.

There near the fire sat Mr and Mrs Honeyfoot, his oldest friends and champions. In the shadowy corner reclined Mr Childermass, a sharp-minded magician himself and a man of singularly dry wit.

Until recently, Childermass had been a veritable obstacle for Mr Segundus, until the extraordinary events surrounding the disappearances of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell had brought them together as allies. There was not enough trust yet to wash away the bleak helplessness Mr Segundus had felt when dealing with Childermass, but already they had come a long way towards a better understanding of each other.

Of course, there next to Childermass sat Vinculus too (a man of questionable hygiene and personal habits), whose skin bore upon it magical blue markings: words of the Raven King himself, in his own written language, still largely undeciphered. Mr Segundus was not particularly fond of _that_ man, but he recognised the immense and unique value of his status as a living book of magic.

It would have been more exciting had this little company been in the midst of a candle-lit meeting of powerful conspirators (as all the magicians upstairs were imagining). What they were in fact doing was dining on freshly buttered buns and hot tea*.

 _* Apart from Vinculus, who was drinking wine and dipping the buttered buns in it._

However, even amidst the warm comforts of friends and breakfast, Mr Segundus felt overwhelmed by the reason why so many magicians were currently swarming Starecross.

It loomed over his consciousness, the grand idea of exploration they were putting forward. Oh, how it made him shudder in both anticipation and dread!

Theirs was a very bold proposition, he admitted, as ideas went: to map out the King's Roads in Faerie.

The lands of Faerie are more abundant in life even than fair England. You see, what is more ancient than hills can grow very hardy indeed: difficult to defeat, but nigh impossible to kill.

A passing fox panted heavily, shaking droplets off its back, confused by the sudden heat and sunlight. It had been chasing a tenacious rabbit, through gloomy dale and glen and field, but had lost its quarry when the small creature ran off into this unknown place.

The fox stopped and perked up its ears. It whimpered.

Something very old was stirring back to life on this fine spring morning and it was not only in pain – it was in a terrible rage.

The fox fled, with a leap and a skip, back into the safety of rainy England…

… And came face to face with the vicar's dog.

If Mr Segundus was willing to admit it to himself, he thought that mapping out the King's Roads was a perfectly sensible idea. Faerie had but recently renewed its connections to England. Many paths that had been forgotten throughout centuries of disuse were now slicing through the land, as surely as needle-thin knife through over-ripe fruit. It would be well for everyone to know where each segment of the King's Roads led. And yet…

'Please forgive me', Mr Segundus said, his thin voice almost in a stutter. 'I do fear this whole business is quite out of the question, at least at this point in time. We hardly know what to expect out there. Perhaps next year, or the year after the next…'

'The year after the next?' The low voice of Childermass laughed from his corner of the room. 'Magic has returned to England! You cannot control the tides of change already sweeping over our world. Norrell tried - that was his great folly.'

'Oh, but that is _not_ a fair comparison! I do not wish to limit anyone! But can't you see how they are all milling about the place?' Mr Segundus exclaimed, waving in a circle towards the imagined locations of his houseguests. 'Would you be able to sleep soundly at night if we told every magician that they could just freely ramble off into Faerie?'

Childermass shook his head lightly, smiling at the smaller man's irate expression.

'Do you imagine that anyone who has arrived here will stay put indefinitely, sitting in their homes and awaiting your notification that it is safe enough? I find it very unlikely. Their pride will not allow it.'

'They _shall_ listen to a logical explanation', Mr Segundus sighed, as if willing himself to believe it. 'The Learned Society of York Magicians is, after all, an organisation of _reasonable men.'_

'And _women_ , it seems', Mrs Honeyfoot remarked with a sniff, her face not radiating full approval.

'I suppose so. The vicar's daughter does come to every meeting, after all.' Mr Segundus' face froze in sudden horror. 'Oh, I do hope that dog isn't inside. I wouldn't put it past doing something ghastly on the carpets. Perhaps I should go check in on their whereabouts...'

Childermass stopped him with one terrible look in his eyes.

'No excuses, please. Mr Segundus, you must have some long-term plan for dissuading our magicians from wandering out alone, if that is indeed your intention. Do you even know what you intend to tell them _today_? They are, after all, expecting us to come up and offer them a chance for glory.'

'Yes! Yes, I do know what to say, thank you very much! I will apologise for their wait and explain that one day, when we have gathered enough intellectual resources to navigate safely, we will draft up a proposal to the Parliament and -'

The room let out a collective groan.

'Not a good plan, I take it?' Mr Segundus said, biting his lip.

'Hardly adequate', Childermass replied, absent-mindedly stopping Vinculus from pocketing a silver spoon into a shabby-looking coat he always wore.

'Well', Mr Segundus cried out in frustration, 'Does _anyone_ have any other suggestion?'

'Yes', Childermass replied promptly. 'Propose them a short walk just within the borders of Faerie. We need to keep them busy, before they decide to take matters into their own hands and stir up all sorts of trouble.'

'Why do you think that this outing will not merely heighten their thirst for walking the King's Roads?'

'Oh, it will, it most certainly will. However, if there is one thing I know about magicians – they will spend the next weeks writing up new publications. The interested public will spend the next month reading about them. We minimise the number of possible breaches into Faerie. This buys us enough time to create a solid outline of the safer roads.'

'We should pick out a choice selection of men for this expedition', Mr Honeyfoot mused aloud. 'A few brave gentlemen who are able to show some real magical prowess.'

'No. We only need men sensible enough to avoid danger.'

'Why do you think any proper gentleman would want to go looking for danger in Faerie?'

'Oh, you would be surprised, Mr Honeyfoot.'

Vinculus bared his rotten teeth into a grin and conspicuously whispered: 'Say, anyone heard from good old Lascelles recently?'

'Point taken', Mr Honeyfoot shuddered.

They still had not found out what had befallen Mr Lascelles, one of Norrell's closest associates. He had last been seen heading out towards a dreary fairy castle. They rather doubted he was currently enjoying a life of magical splendour.

Childermass glanced at Mrs Honeyfoot, who now looked visibly concerned at the prospect of her husband visiting Faerie.

'I propose you two stay at Starecross', he offered, not unkindly. 'Try to ease any tensions which will doubtlessly arise. You will stay put, too, Vinculus - and try not to pilfer anything from our host's home.'

'And I?' Mr Segundus asked.

He knew he was more suited to writing about magic than having an adventure. He was content with this knowledge about himself.

The only detail that made him wince was the thought of staying behind to deal with magicians like old Dr Foxcastle and his friends. They were obstinate fellows who would surely insist on being included in the expedition, especially if _Childermass_ would be going. They did not really approve of magicians of lowly birth or disreputable social standing.

The long face of Childermass took on a peculiar expression.

'Why, _you_ , Mr Segundus - you will be leading us.'

Mr Segundus had to sit down abruptly.

The vicar, whose name was Mr Redruth, was very confused. There had been quite a ruckus and he was not quite sure what to make of it. A fox had careened out of nowhere into his dog; chaos had reigned for an ungodly few moments. Then the fox leapt away, his dog stumbling after it – and both creatures vanished.

The vicar was not much of a biologist, and did not claim to know anything about foxes, but he fancied he knew that dogs did not just turn into thin air.

He hoped that the magicians were not playing some silly game, or he would be forced to become quite cross, whether it would embarrass his daughter or not!

'Roland?' He called out for his terrier, peering through the rain, already annoyed at all this nonsense. Thus the good vicar stepped briskly forward, into sudden sunlight that blinded his eyes.

The grasses of England rustled behind his steps and stood still. Just as quickly as their altercation had taken place, all three were gone: man, dog and fox.

The rain continued to patter against the vastness of the moors.


End file.
